


Descent of the Fallen

by BeforePeaceIsAStorm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sam Winchester, Dark Character, Dark Thoughts, Guys This is Pretty Grim, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforePeaceIsAStorm/pseuds/BeforePeaceIsAStorm
Summary: Sam, alienated by his own siblings, turned to the sweet, whispered nothings of the Morningstar's silver tongue. He falls with the rest of his tainted brethren, laying waste earth in all the best ways. Samuel was wronged, and he wants compensation, or to forget, perhaps a familiar face can give him both of those, and show him what he missed in the tragedy of his youth.(Or it's 4am and I'm feeling really dark and I'm on a writing streak)





	Descent of the Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is seriously dark, no clue if I'll even continue it...
> 
> Either way, Sam will be VERY OOC, so don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Samuel found comfort in falling, like a metaphorical light in the darkness and the warmth of a thousands grace. The light bled through valiantly, knocking away the darkness that encompassed him, driving away the smothering sensation he had grown far too accustomed to. It was euphoric, the wind rushing past him, ticking at his large primaries despite their position folded neatly to his back.

Nevertheless, the earth rushed towards him, its large form unyielding against the beauty of the galaxy, and Samuel had no misconceptions, landing would hurt likely even more than the ice that froze at his grace, chipping it away piece by piece. His wings extended, slowly, as not to tear them from his very back, gently catching air and slowing his rapid descent towards the land of man and souls. Sam- a renowned flier in his own respective district- held his own wings in high esteem, faith in the feathered appendages more than that he held in his own Father, even his siblings, for as much as he had once trusted them. He would have given his life, once, and they theirs, but now, in the aftermath of recent events, he wouldn't leave them with one of his feathers, a lesser convert, at that.

He slowed, turning his gaze around him, where his siblings could be seen falling alongside him, their wails agonized as they were cut off from the light and grace of the host they had once taken for granted. His brothers and sisters- tainted by the words of the serpent with the silver tongue- now fell from grace, their bodies battered and bruised, grace torn. He wondered, truly, why they were more effected than himself by the betrayal his own siblings had committed, the atrocities burned into their grace, etched like little more than blades, to be wielded and to be broken. His own- dark in its own right- was much lighter, the taint lessened, and still glowing, even. But had he not committed the same crimes? Had he not slaughtered relentlessly any angel that had gotten in his way? Had he not burned nests, uncaring if the family was within, or whether they bore fledgelings? Had he not done enough wrong, to be as tainted as them?

Samuel knew he had, and yet he still glowed softly, the wings still attached to his back, tethered deep into his grace. ‘ _Do I not deserve sufferance, Father?’_ He could not help but think. In a way, pain would be better than this, the uncertainty of where he stood within the light of Heaven _, ‘Have I not done enough to be considered a monster in my own right?’_

He landed, his feet touched the ground gently, the soft blades of grass tickled at his feet and ankles in a foreign, yet not unwelcome sensation. He dug his toes into the dirt, reveling in the pained cries of the demons beneath his feet. He brushed his wings over the leaves of the nearby trees, the large appendages large enough easily to surpass the tops of the towering oaks and steady pines, his own wings dwarfed him now. He flashed a grin, shark-like in nature as he inhaled the sweet scent of his fellow siblings anger, their grace crackling and burning with rage, white and hot. Amongst his Father’s creation, however, Samuel wavered in his stony resolve, the warm and gentle feeling that emitted from every crevice nearly served to send him scampering back to Heaven, tail between his legs, but Sam was a fledgeling no longer, and he had long since learned that even a whisper of weakness, a rumour amidst the truth could get one killed. Samuel had been young when he was turned to the darkness of rebellion, and it was too late to retreat now, so late in the throes of darkness.

‘ _Drink_ ,’ he could still hear his brothers sweet voice crooning, ‘ _drink and you can_ _show them what you are made of_.’ He had been blinded, judgement clouded by anger when the serpent had gotten to him, allowing the black liquid to fall into his being by his own hands, a cruel fate indeed. _Demon_ _blood_ , he had later learned, already corrupted by the sharp pollution of addiction. He shivered, remembering his many highs, and the things he had done while sequestered by them. It had been odd, his grace separated from his mind, free to wreak havoc without his logic and reasoning.

He shook the thoughts away, the darkness that the light had once kept away crept in, and he was surrounded once more, demeanour cold, following the familiar tendrils of grace to his nearest fallen brother, staring down at him without an ounce of pity or compassion, even when the other writhed and wheezed, begging for help. These emotions had long since been stolen from him, removed coldly by his cackling older siblings over time. He had hardened, until no longer did they laugh when he passed, instead they cowered, the fear that had once shone in his eyes was now theirs as they dropped to their knees, he showed them. He showed them all.

He snarled, lunging upon his weak brother, dragging the pitiful thing to his feet and shoving him away. The angel snapped back, seemingly before realizing who had happened upon him. But Sam struck not, he let out a cold hiss, and led the feeble bastard back into the woods, along the trail of another sibling. It followed, like a pup after its master, eyes downcast as it stumbled along behind him, wings bowed in deep submission.

Sam had been respected amongst his peers, and as such he gathered stragglers like moths to the gentle flame of a candle, but moths were blinded by the thought of light, they knew nothing of the danger until they were dead and burned, their small wings shrivelled to ashes and their coloured bodies charred black by the fire they had been oh so obsessed with.

They came across a dead one, wings burned permanently into the earth, scoring and marring the gorgeous green only seen in emeralds. His brothers and sisters whimpered at the sight, and he whirled on them. Once predators in their own right, wolves, hyenas, they would have leapt upon someone at the first sign of weakness or cowardice, for such was their nature after having been twisted and morphed beyond recognition. Now, isolated from the home they had always known, they turned into cowards themselves, and Samuel- much as they themselves would have down- leapt with flashing teeth and grace as sharp as any angel, blade. His sword- still shining a brilliant silver despite the hellfire that should have scorched it- leapt towards the nearest brother, and slashed him to the bone for the pitiful whine he dared release. The others backed off, seeming to remember themselves at the first sign of bloodshed and violence, what they had known for most of their life. When he stepped away, they lunged forward, each trying to reach a piece of their impaired brother, they scratched and scraped and hit, but none dared draw their blade.

When he saw fit, Sam let out a snarl, watching as the angels sprang away, gazes focused on him rather than the fallen form of their sibling. He stood — _eventually_.

  
Samuel likened them to a pack of wolves, perfectly prepared to do his bidding, and always on the lookout for weakness. He enjoyed the power coursing through his veins, the adrenaline at the thought that he held these lives within his claws, they were his to lead, his to command, their leader had fallen, and Sam had risen to the position with gusto.

“Come,” he growled throatily, “and we shall lay waste to the beasts of this land.” The followed with a series of short calls and hollars, wings flared — though careful to remain lower than Samuel’s, signifying his leadership. None dared oppose him as he led them further into the woods, finding a place to set up their base.

They settled on something underground, a sort of bunker (not unlike the men of letters legacy, though this they did not know) burrowed deep within the earth, and warded so thoroughly no one could ever even hope to find them.

 

Hidden the fallen remained for many eons, until the day Samuel had of course led them to begin their plans. They had done unimportant things here or there, knocking down an irritating empire, bestowing a horrific plague upon the land, set to destroy as many as they could. It was not until now, however, that they executed the age old ambition of their sequestered brother.

He drew his wings up, gathering as much air as he could, before snapping them together with a concussive blast, ringing echoing in his ears as wind was sent rushing towards the large city. New York, it was called. Samuel watched carefully as the wind shifted into a swirling mass, picking things up and tossing them about with simplistic ease. Something felt right, about eradicating this city in such a manner, naturally. So the world- something the humans had fought so hard to tame- destroyed the very hairless apes that inhabited it. He sneered, watching the ocean rise up in a great wave, the gentle blue glittering sharply with the light of the sun, looking eerily beautiful as it fell over the city in a rush of cold rage, drowning the inhabitants and destroying everything in its wake.

Suddenly, just as rapidly had the disaster occured, did it halt in its place, before receding, leaving everything just as it had once been.

Samuel cried in outrage, raising his head to the sky in a loud screech that would have shattered the glass of every single building, that would have killed anything not of the supernatural, had the city not been protected of course.

Stifling warmth fell over him, the gates of Heaven properly open for the first time since the fall, as a powerful presence descended. His pack scattered at the first sight of the Viceroy, his light burned brilliantly, untainted in the way theirs were not. He was pure, while they were tarnished, more like rats than wolves, Samuel knew this, as did they, and so they left. But Sam was no coward, he did not flee before his former ruler, his former brother. He stood strong, towering over the other in his own respect, wings arched aggressively, his blade resting easily in his palm, the cool metal a faint comfort at his inevitable ruin.

“ _Brother_ ,” he crooned in the language of the angels, gaze curious and almost… sorrowful at Sam's flinch. The language was nearly unfamiliar, as his fallen brethren had been banned from the language, the words unable to form on their tongues, despite wanting desperately to hear the familiar sound they had once associated with home. Further than that, though, was the gentle tone of voice, Samuel could deal with insults, with cold tones and viscous snarls, but he had no idea what to do with kindness. He had not known true compassion since before his brother had died, dragged away from life in an ambush that had signified Sam’s descent into madness. Diniel- or Dean, as Sam had called him- went down fighting, and Sam could practically picture his playful smile, his slate coloured wings, the faint green sheen that perfectly matched his emerald coloured eyes. His brother had raised him, it was all Samuel had ever known, and once he died… Sam was alone, he had nothing, _no one_ …  
  
As if picking up his thoughts, Michael let free a soft triil, and moved closer, hand outstretched, but Sam jerked away with a low snarl that would have terrified a lesser being, swinging his blade in the blink of an eye, only a hare's breath too short to nick the angel. The archangel bared his teeth, but refused to return the snarl, the pain that Sam had displayed at hearing his voice echoing in his mind, imprinted forever into his psyche, burned and etched like the signature on a blade, made to be seen, but completely useless if you didn't know how it could get you out of trouble in a sticky situation.

Michael changed his approach, deciding instead that it would be better if Sam came to him, and so he extended his hand slowly, palm up, waiting. It was likely to be a trick, this Sam knew, but his brother sounded so gentle, and he had not heard anything like it in eons. He had not felt a soft touch in so long, all he had known for ages was hurt, the pain and physical response when one touched him. Perhaps the trap was worth it if he got to feel some form of compassion before injury. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, until their fingertips were brushing, and he felt no pain. He moved closer still, sliding his fingers beneath the other males, unwilling to put himself in a state of vulnerability that would come with having his hand cradled in Michael’s.

He shifted still, their hands moulding like water as he curled his arm, slowly, until he was holding the others wrist gently, but firmly in his grip. Samuel was now in a position of power, and if Michael wished to hurt him, it would take effort. The archangel seemed completely at ease, despite having no guarantee that Samuel would not snap his wrist, before ducking away. And he was ashamed to admit it, but he considered doing just that. It was bound to be a trap, no matter how long it took to spring. However, an odd sense of loyalty rose deep within him, he did not want to hurt one that had been so kind and gentle with him, did not want to damage and anger the purity before him. Suddenly aware of the taint that veiled his grace, he moved to draw away, unaware his thoughts could be heard by the other from the brushing of their grace.

‘ _Tainted_ ,’ his mind cackled, ‘ _tarnished_ , _impure, monster, abomination, you’ll taint him like they tainted you! Abomination_ , _unworthy_ , _disgusting_ -’

The hand twirled easily, catching his wrist so they were locked together, grace twining. He felt the warm light circle his arm, dancing up and over, exploring every inch of his battered essence. He had expected the other would burn, as his entrance had been hot with righteous fury, wrought with anger and a faint hint of chaos. But never once did it burn, instead it washed over him like warm water, chasing away his troubles with an easy sense of calm.

“ _Brother_ ,” he crooned again, and Sam trilled back, voice a bit lighter, his blade falling away to mist, like it had never been needed, never been used. Along with it, any distrust faded, and he melted into the warm grace that danced over his scarred true form, leaving a gentle breeze in its wake, like a healing kiss.

For the first time in eons, the darkness within Samuel stayed gone.


End file.
